She walks beside him, carefree
by NoLongerWritingHere
Summary: She had to tell someone. She had the greatest secret in the world, holding it tightly to her chest as if she'd die if she was found out. It wasn't a huge, ground breaking secret. It was simply hers, and she wouldn't change that for the world...


This is a challenge for **FictionNET** ( http / sycotic . org / fnet ) If you're looking for a nifty (mostly based on Harry Potter) writing forum, join Fnet and say that **Keladryie** sent you. It's seriously worth it. This challenge fits in with **Challenge 04 HP - Dark Secrets**. It's pretty terrible but I seriously couldn't think of any good secrets to make up :p All I could think of was secrets that already existed (Remus and his werewolfness, the Map, the Animagus lark, etc) or bad, cliched secrets like a secret relationship. Blargh. 

Even though I don't say exactly who the characters are, they don't belong to me. They belong to _J K Rowling_.

* * *

She had to tell someone. She had the greatest secret in the world, holding it tightly to her chest as if she'd die if she was found out.

It wasn't a huge, ground-breaking secret. It was simply hers, and she wouldn't change that for the world...

She could share it, with someone maybe. But no, she couldn't. Like a shy little thing she held her hands wrapped in a strange fashion, held tight to her chest, as if her secret was a real object.

Well it was...in a way...

_What do you mean 'in a way'? It WAS a real object._

Luna flipped her hair over her shoulder to keep it out of her way. It was so long and had the tendency to seem to levitate around her on its own accord, it always got in her eyes, especially when she needed it not to be in her eyes. Or maybe she just noticed that it was in her eyes when she needed it to not be? Something like that.

She walked around, through the passageways, a roll of small poster type pieces of parchment in her hands. They were lists and a plea for all she had 'lost', or rather, items which had been stolen from her, for it all to be returned, which most of it did, eventually. She put a few up on every floor so everyone would see and everyone would return; hopefully.

'So who's this?' she thought to herself as she spied someone. 'Harry Potter? He's a nice boy, his faked surprise that she is picked on is sweet, as if he's trying to ignore that it happens.' And again as she 'informs' him of her nickname. But she knows that he knew. It's nice, though, his words.

'That's no reason for them to take your things,' he says flatly. Still, should she tell him her secret? 'Hmm…no. Perhaps not. It looks like he has enough on his plate, what with his friend dying and all.

But it was nice of him to offer to help look for your stuff…'

She continues walking the passages, the thought of pudding still on her mind. She hears snuffling and the sound of quiet tears and hunts it out slowly, her ears and sense in her mind well taught in this art. She finds the source hidden behind a pillar soon enough.

She tilts her head, before kneeling next to him, still just watching.

'Why does he have to cry? He's one of the purest, not blackened by hatred or petty thoughts…' she muses to herself, and reaches out to straighten his robes. He starts, looking at her with a tear-stained face. She doesn't ask what the matter is, she doesn't need to know. She just sits with him while he tries to rub away the evidence. A hand on his wrist stops him, although he doesn't quite get it.

'I think I should tell him…' she ponders, before leaning closer.

"I was always told blondes had more fun." She confided simply. "But, you know, I don't think it counts or impacts on the end result at all. I'm not really blonde, you know." She pauses, to assess him, and he stares back at her, his tears forgotten and a distant croak coming from his pocket. He must have finally been able to contain the pet into a pocket.

"I dyed my hair after mum died. She was blonde. She had fun while she was alive, so I believed what they said, you know, about how Blondes have more fun? It made Dad happier as well, to see me like this. As if yes, Mum was dead, _is dead_, but her work, something she was really involved in, _me_, is still alive. That's why I can't die, because it would make Dad sad again. And that's why I dyed my hair blonde." She stares at him, her eyes unblinking, like always. He still says nothing.

"Want to go have some pudding?" she offers. She's used to people not being able to speak around her.

He nods, and gets to his feet, his face still red and blotchy in parts. She walks beside him, carefree. Carefree. _She just had to tell someone._

* * *

I'm getting sick of everyone asking me to continue my fanfics when I state they're OneShots. So here, I'm saying it's a OneShot. my work isn't good enough to continue, stop building up my hopes :p


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